


Addictive

by Yung_Mofftiss (OnWednesdaysWeStudyinPink)



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M, Necrophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-14
Updated: 2011-02-14
Packaged: 2017-12-13 17:22:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/826846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnWednesdaysWeStudyinPink/pseuds/Yung_Mofftiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A past and present view of something found in the upstairs bedroom of the Barrett mansion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Addictive

The agent looks at the… _device_  with quiet regard. He can't say it's separate from the bed or even that it’s joined to the bed, because everything has been so carefully intertwined that it  _is_  the bed. He’s never seen anything like it and as his pen hovers above the clipboard, he isn’t sure what to write.  
  
A web. There are straps and wires and knots and hooks and fine chains that pull and lift and shift and move its occupant(s). The towering frame is constructed of hard wood and thick beams of steel, which seems to fit in the eerie mansion with its tired antiquities and taxidermy. The top disappears into the black ceiling; the room is dark and silent, only the light from his flashlight and he peeks in between the heavy velvet curtains, the air cold and dry.  
  
It's so alien, resembling both torture and pleasure. This perverse machine only raises more questions than brings answers.  
  
 _Everything Roland has ever done had been for her, for the love they had shared. She was his and he was hers, that was the simple truth. Maybe he had loved her too much but she had needed it, had needed someone to love her so deeply, so purely that it hurt.  
  
Their bed. It was theirs, built by him so that they could have one more piece of their first life back and he had put many hours into each intricate detail, much like the system he’d created in the basement for her dancing._  
  
It takes him a full thirty minutes to figure out how the perp got the victim’s body through the net of chains; a single gold tasseled rope hangs partially hidden in the heavy curtains that are tied back to the posts of the bed's canopy. He leans into the device to pull it and the pulleys creak above him and move―the curtains are released and fall around the bed, surrounding him in pitch black. With his flashlight, he watches most everything lifting to reveal the surface of the bed. He leans back from the curtains and using one of the life-like dummies that Massive Dynamic had donated to the field bureau a few years ago, he climbs onto the bed to begin exploring the labyrinthine contraption.  
  
On the wall above the “headboard” is a single sconce that contains a half melted votive candle, apparently the only source of light when inside. On the notes he's making, he jots down this information, flashlight held in his mouth. Next, he takes the dummy and lays it out on the centre of the bed. He imagines how easily the victim's body would have slipped into the harnesses night after night. There are cuffs for wrists, waist, ankles, thighs and he attaches each corresponding part to the dummy, trying to disassociate himself from it all.  
  
He shifts on the bed and feels the adrenaline race through him as the contraption suddenly comes to life―something under his leg slithers and the dummy's arm rises. He scrambles backwards and the arm lowers, lifting both the knees instead. Once his heart stops pounding, he realises that the surface of the bed is pressure sensitive, that the chains and wires and straps run under him as well. And the device isn't designed to hold the body in place, but to make it seem like it's actually participating.  
  
 _The bed sighed and groaned as he readied them for the night. He had learned every subtle shift he had to make on their bed to manipulate her body into the position they wanted; it was no longer strange or awkward to use their bed―it turned their time together into a glorious masterpiece.  
  
He was in his blue nightwear, simple blue and white striped cotton pyjamas and she was in her nightgown, pale pink silk and freshwater pearl buttons. He smiled fondly down at her, taking great pleasure in their masculinity and femininity here in their bed. Slowly he began undressing them in turns―first his shirt, then unbuttoning her gown, next his trousers, and finally he pulled the cool silk from her body. He'd been painfully erect since he'd carried her to their bed and as he knelt between her legs, he chastised himself for thinking of his own desires first. Of course he hadn’t made this bed for his pleasure―it was about her, too.  
  
“Oh yes, it's going to be good for you, very good,” he whispered. “We need to keep your body strong, don't we?”  
  
He brushed his thumb across her long lashes before cradling her face, kissing her soft lips tenderly. _  
  
The agent fights his gag reflex as the dummy moves as a weird marionette, trying to reach up for him, parting its legs in a mockery of seduction. He's tries his best to push away every disturbing thought that the poor girl's body had been used this way so long after her death. Now he simply has to gather the evidence nessasary to add in the additional charges the DA wants to press against the man that had lived here.  
  
The dummy’s head tilts back and the neck is exposed, vulnerable.  
  
“What a fuckin' freak,” he mutters as he writes down his notes.  
  
The perp was obviously insane―needing to have sex so bad that he was willing to fuck a corpse?  
  
 _Roland loved how her hair spilled across his pillows. Long, honey tresses that he kept so carefully brushed. He wanted to thread his fingers through them, let his finger slide through the silky and beautiful locks, but then he’d muss them and he couldn’t bear the thought of that. Her skin was pale, soft, and perfumed, cold but he knew it was a matter of time before her flesh would warm under his touch. His hands travelled up the sides of her body, touching her and as he shifted his weight slightly to the right, her arm raised to touch his bicep.  
  
Roland had already gently guided her hand into the cuff, tender as he tightened the strap around her delicate ankle. He leaned forward and kissed her palm, kissed her brow. The chains above their bed swayed as he entered her and he exhaled softly; her head tilted back, her exposed neck long and beautiful.  
  
She was  **not**  dead, just waiting.  
  
Her eyes were closed and her mouth as well, but she was beautiful, beautiful, beautiful still. He moved his left knee, prompting her hands trace from his waist up his back, the tips of her fingers caressing his straining muscles. Their lips meet and he trailed his kisses down her neck, listening to the pulleys and chains and wires above them move. The light of the single candle flickered across them, creating soft shadows and deep angles on their body.  
  
Every moment was perfect, exactly as it had always been. As it had  **always**  been. He couldn’t remember the world before her. She was his Christ, his saviour, the most beautiful creature on the planet._  
  
The agent wonders how many cries this room has heard, how many shouts and screams had been echoed into the walls and drapes. He's careful not to shake any of them loose from the heavy curtains that hang around the bed.  
  
 _She was silent when they were together and over time he’d learned to be quiet as well. He would bite his lip and concentrate on his breathing, fighting back the hard grunts at their exertion. And truthfully, he was becoming more accustomed to the sounds of weights and levers in their love making than he was to the organic ones. He knew every position needed to make their bed sing._  
  
 _His knees pushed down into the bed and her hips were jerked upwards against him, wanting him. He wanted her, too._  
  
 _“Oh, Amanda,” he whispered over and over, stroking her hair, kissing her lips fervently._  
  
 _She was beautiful and he was hers and she was his and this was theirs…_


End file.
